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If you ever want to see what your son’s future is, all you have to do is look at your past. It is a chain and, no matter how hard you try to break it, you end up reinforcing it.

I realized this as I handed my son his tool bag. I came from a family of roofers. My father was a roofer and I was a roofer. I didn’t want this for my son. However, he was going to work just one summer with me before he started college. This was the start of the same story from 30 years ago.

The year was 1995 and I had just graduated high school. My father was a hard working man and his body was breaking because of it. He had inherited Ironridge Roofing from his father. “Don’t worry Danny Boy,” he’d say to me, “The business ends with me.”

My father didn’t want me to be a roofer like him. He wanted me to be the first in his family to go to college and that was the plan.

However, one early Monday morning he woke me up. “Daniel, I need your help today,” he said as he walked in. One of his employees had an injury over the weekend and was going to be out for the Summer season.

My father drove us to the shop. He was a heavy smoker and constantly smoked in his work truck. I didn’t care much for it so I rode with the window completely down.

Once we got there, he handed me my equipment. It was supposed to be just the Summer season.

The first few weeks were hard, but I got a hang of it. The hardest part was working with the rest of the crew. They all knew I was the boss’s son and they all knew I was just a temp. Therefore, they didn’t bother.

It was break time and my father was checking in. The rest of the crew sat together, smoking their cigarettes.

“Why aren’t ya sitting with the rest of the guys?” my father asked with a cigarette between his lips.

“I don’t know. They treat me different. They don’t see me as one of them,” I confessed.

My father pulled out his pack of Marlboro Reds and slid one out of the pack. He handed it to me. “Don’t tell your mother,” he said. I had never smoked before and wondered why he was giving me one. I placed it in my lips and my father lit it for me.

After that, things got better with the rest of the crew. I wasn’t othered anymore. I only smoked a few throughout the day, usually just on breaks, but they were a bridge.

The Summer season rolled into Fall. Just one more season eventually because just one more year.

It was the Summer of 2000 when college wasn’t discussed anymore. After 5 years, it just wasn’t in the cards anymore. I knew this and my father knew this. It was a mutual acceptance.

I started smoking a bit more throughout the day. With my paychecks, I eventually got my own place and even got a tattoo that made me feel tough.

I was just one of the guys. I was now a hard working man, just like my father.

In the evenings, me and the crew would go to the local dive bar. We’d drink the rest of our paychecks. That’s how I meet Rebecca. She was a pretty girl who I think liked my edge. What started out as a one night stand eventually became a relationship. Rebecca was smart; she went to college and was a teacher. She probably deserved more than what I could give. Her high-class family disapproved of me, but I think I was a form of rebellion for her. Something against the grain of her life.

It was 2005 when she found out she was pregnant. I proposed soon after and we had a shot gun wedding. However, neither of us were truly happy. I knew what I was for Rebecca and I knew it wasn’t what she wanted. I was supposed to be a phase in her life and an eventual bad decision.

We split up shortly after Ryan was born. She had full custody, but I occasionally saw my son on the weekends.

I escaped my reality with work, Marlboro Reds and cheap beer. It was 2010 when my father asked me to take over the business. His health was declining. I agreed without a second thought.

The crew accepted this handover; they had all respected me. I was the first one at work and the last to leave. They trusted me as their new boss.

In my evenings, I’d pick up take out for dinner, a case of beer and a pack of Reds. I’d eat alone, only with Ryan’s toys scattered around. I’d always wonder when I’d see him again.

2015 was a tough year. The years of heavy smoking had caught up to my father and he passed. After he died due to lung disease, I attempted to quit smoking myself. It was for myself and for Ryan. I didn’t want to be a bad role model for him. I wanted him to have a different life than what I had, and what my father had.

I was stressed at work. Even though my father retired, he was still a source of guidance for me as I ran the business. Now he was gone. I only made it a few days before I was lighting back up. I’d try quitting again once it slowed down.

It was 2020 when my body was really started to feel the effects of my life choices. My back was always sore. I’d wake up in the morning with a deep cough. I never attempted to quit smoking again. I accepted that ship had long sailed.

Ryan was now 15 years old. As he got older, our relationship got stronger. Now that he was a teenager, he was able to make more of his own choices. He’d come over on the weekends and we’d chat on the phone in the evenings.

“How was work, dad?” he’d always ask.

“Rough,” I’d always respond, usually with a cough. He wasn’t going to take on this business, I promised myself.

But promises are usually broken, and this chain is unbreakable.

Ryan was standing before me, ready to work for just one summer. I could have break the chain right now, but I needed his help just like my father needed my help 30 years ago.

The last 30 years flashed in my mind after I handed him his bag. I hoped Ryan’s next 30 years would be different than mine, but I also knew I had just placed Ryan’s first link of the same chain.

Liam was my best friend since we started school. Recently he started changing and dressing more chavy. He always had a polo with a popped collar.

Since he changed style he started giving me advice on how to do my hair and stuff. I tried to please him because his my friend.

After 6 months he convinced me to dress preppy. Because it was the style that fitted me best. I could listen to him talking for hours, he's so interesting.

One year since Liam started wearing polos. I'm blond now because Liam prefers blond. I also started doing his homework and stuff. It brings me so much joy to help my friend.

Jerry just couldn't seem to focus. Every time he felt he was getting into the groove of writing his thesis, something bothered him. First it was the mail man with a package, then his mom asking if everything was going well at school, his neighbor complaining about the noise, which didn't even come from his house, then his boss berating him for not being able to work an extra shift.

After about 2 hours he rubbed his eyes and got up from behind his desk. He needed a break, a small reset, a clean slate.

He walked into his kitchen and saw the package he had received earlier. He decided that a small serotonin boost from a gift couldn't hurt, so he opened up the small cardboard box.

Inside he found a salve. He frowned, and picked up a small card that was inside the box. Rakurai Inc. New and improved Focus Cream. Nothing else.

With a raised eyebrow he unscrewed the lid and a pungent smell immediately assaulted his nostrils. Jerry stumbled back due to the inhaled attack. As he did, he realised the smell reminded him of something.

He couldn't quite place it, but eventually he decided that it must be Vicks.

"Focus Cream... maybe the scent subconsciously makes you focus?" Jerry mumbled to himself.

With a shrug he took of his shirt, and while dabbing some on his fingers, he walked over to the mirror and rubbed some of the cream on his chest. A tiny warm prickle eminated from where the cream touched his chest. His lanky frame shuddered. Jerry decided he was probably supposed to put some more in, and dug his finger tips into the container, and scooped up a clod of cream. Absentmindedly lathering it on, Jerry didn't notice he had put the whole container on his chest, and didn't notice the instructions on the bottom of the tin.

With new found vigor, Jerry began typing away at his thesis. His fingers were flying over the keyboard, paragraphs almost writing themselves. Slowly, Jerry started leaning closer to his screen, the tapping slowing down a bit. The frantic noise of keys changed. Instead of the high rung mechanical noises, soft taps. The taps turned into thuds, heavier and louder by the second. Eventually the amount of symbols in the document ceased changing, and Jerry looked down. Instead of his hands typing away, his hands were wrapped around a giant dick, cupping massive balls. Not that he could see them, because two massive pecs were blocking his view. What he did see however was the massive amount of drool glistening and slicking up said pecs. Entranced by the massive mounds of flesh, Jerry moved his hands to it, leaving the groin he was fondling. Two bulging bisceps came into view as he groped the ginormous globes. A loud, low moan escaped his lips as someone also squeezed his pecs. But wait, thats weird he didn't have pecs. Looking again Jerry finally realised the huge hooters were his, and so were the giant arms, thick rod, hanging balls and from the feel of it, bulbous ass, and trunk like legs.

A chuckle escaped Jerry's throat as his melons began dancing again, a new layer of saliva making them shine in the light of his appartment. With his thesis finished, it was time for fun, and with these enourmous, hanging assets, he knew just what to do.

Another guy on Grindr not responding after you sent a pic of yourself. Guys are always eager to talk with you because you put sub in your profile but they are not really respectful.

The next day you go back to work. You didn't get laid last night but maybe you'll find a plan for tonight.

While checking your emails you see that the boss asked you in his office.

The boss is really young, before his father was running the place but he got bored. So now it's the son.

The son shows you you're picture and the grinder conversion you had yesterday. The one were you talked about your submission kink.

He makes you sit on the floor. After you sucked him. He ask you to change.

Then once your ready. He presents you to the whole company. He ordered all your colleagues to abuse you, insulte and humiliate you. After all your a fag. You should be grateful to still have a job.

At first he was only browsing through the web, scanning his favourite channels for something new, podcasts, video games, commentaries, anything that would bring him some kind of enjoyment. That's when he saw a picture that caught his attention and stirred something between his legs. The image of a jock flexing in a gym. Hugo had to admit it, he had a type. He couldn't resist clicking on the thumbnail and landing on a website filled with images of big muscular men showing off their bodies. Most of them were flexing, straining their shirts and shorts, grinning and chuckling dumbly while having seemingly a great time. He browsed through the page mesmerised by what he saw, soon giving in to his wants in needs as the pictures didn't seem to end, each jock more handsome than the other. The cock that was resting in his boxer stirred and hardened, his hand reaching for the bulge hidden by his clothes. He laid back lazily in his gamer chair, his right hand pushing the buttons on his mouse as his left hand stroked lustfully his cock. He was getting so hard, harder than he has ever been while locking at all those stereotypical American jocks. All these dudes had awoken something deep within him, beyond need and want, a pleasure so great he slowly forgot his surroundings, not caring if anyone could see him from the windows. It was like Hugo was in trance, his basic functions controlled by his lust as he slowly pushed down his jeans and kicked them off to the corner of the room, moaning as the fabric rubbed against the tip of his cock, thicker than ever.

Hugo didn't look at all like the men flexing on his screen, he was smaller than average and lacked the muscular definition he so much craved. Even though his face was handsome in a typical southern french way, it lacked the handsome sharpness of the jocks he was now masturbating to. The tip of his cock leaked a considerable amount of precum as he stroked it again and again, unable to keep his eyes off the screen. He was so so hard, harder than ever, breathing in loudly as he went up and down his inflated dick, wishing to be able to stroke the big arms and legs of the many dudes flexing on his screens. Hugo had given up on rational thinking as the website had locked him in some kind of mind bending hypnosis. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to be just like them, dumb and horny.

A new need arose inside Hugo. A spasm in his arms. A tickling in his hand that spread to his face. A light chuckle escaped his lips. The French man flexed, and it felt beyond any pleasure he had ever felt. His cock grew even harder and leakier, staining his black boxers. He flexed again while looking at another dude on the website. Just like him. This was so hot. He never was this horny. And it felt right, so right. Hugo pushed his boxers down to his knees, letting his hard rock member stand straight towards the screen to flex both of his arms like showing off, not noticing as his dick got even bigger, matching the size of the dude he was looking at. He was just too preoccupied by his arms. It was like with each strain of the muscle they got thicker. Nitin a pudgy way, but in hard and handsome one. Again, he lifted his arms to show off, and again, they grew just a little bit. His hands tingled as they grow, sending shivers through his core and to his cock, more precum leaking of the tip as he flexed again.

That's all he had to, not think and flex, again and again. Another chuckle left his mouth, deeper and dumber as his eyes grew dull. Hugo turned around a bit as his core thickened. Biceps bulging and arms lengthened with his back as all grew and expanded in every direction. His position shifted and he spread his legs as his ass inflated to become just as hard and big as the rest of his body. It was so hot to watch his body grow and change, enough for him to lower both hands toward his stomach to feel the skin heating up and muscle thickening there as well.

By now he must have grown by a foot, feeling parts of his back strain as he explored every inch of his upper body, soon his hands met his face, feeling the bones and skin shifting under his palms as the entire structure changed. If he'd been able to look at himself he would have noticed how his European looks had left him to be replaced by something more foreign, a perfect replica of the many faces he had seen today. Hugo now looked more like your typical American jock, his hair shortening ever so slightly as he bit his lips.

His left hand reached for his cock again, the skin receding to become cut as more precum leaked from the tip and covered his hand. It smelled strong and masculine, making his lust and desire grow even. Hugo, or Dan, brought his feet together to ruboner against the other, moanin as the soles grew and stretched, thinning the cloth until it itself started to transform. The material thickened again and lightened until it was pure white, the white pieces of clothes growing up his calves, stretching again as the muscle of his legs bulged. Dan looked at his muscular feet draped in white socks, still rubbing one foot against the other, watching his bigger toes wriggle at the end of each. Soon his thighs ballooned out, stretching the synthetic cloth of his boxers as they changed to his new size too, becoming as white as the new pair of socks the American jock wore. He came hard, spraying his seed all over his desk and screen as his previous life left him. A new picture appeared on the website. One of him flexing, then another one of him with his dick in hand, thick spurts of precum leaking out of him with the caption "hot American jock from California."

Dan didn't mind the attention, quite enjoying the attention he was receiving. He thought about opening an only fan as he cleaned himself, maybe once he came back from his exchange program in France.

“C’mon, let’s just give it one more go!” 

“I don’t want to…” 

Robert was slumped against the wall with his head in between his knees. His friend Aidan was looking down at him. Aidan let out a heavy sigh, then bent down to meet Rob at eye level.

“Listen man, I’m trying to help you out here but you’re making it really difficult.” Aidan tried to make eye contact with Rob, but he turned the other way. “What was that thing you used to say? The best actors can turn themselves into anyone they want? What happened to that energy?”

“Let’s be honest, I was just lying to myself. Even I didn’t believe that bullshit.” Rob said muffled through his hands. He then let himself fall over onto the ground, much to Aidan’s growing annoyance. While Rob was laying on the asphalt, he looked up to the sky above. The dark of night had just settled in and the first few stars had just come out. 

Ever since he was a kid, Robert dreamed of being a big time Hollywood actor. He always imagined himself up on the silver screen whenever he went to the movies. Although Rob had spent most of his childhood and adolescence performing for local theater groups, he unfortunately never made it into the big leagues. He had all but given up on his childhood dream and settled for a life working in retail.

However, just as Rob was getting comfortable living an ordinary life, everything changed one fateful day when an acting agent walked into the store. The agent was in desperate need of an actor for an upcoming commercial shoot after the previous guy dropped last minute. Rob just so happened to be on the clock that day. They had a conversation, one thing led to another and next thing you knew, Rob got the part. It was a minor acting gig with only two lines, but it was enough to reignite the passion Rob had for acting. So much so that he decided to quit his day job and pursue acting full time. 

But unfortunately for Rob, his good luck started as well as ended on that fateful day. He hasn’t been able to land another acting job despite having gone on numerous auditions. While Rob was already on the verge of giving up again, his best friend Aidan was still holding out hope for him.

“Bro, c’mon, they’re looking for a Filipino dude and you’re the only one auditioning. How could they not cast you?” Aidan said.

“It’s really not that simple… I can’t just be type casted into a role because of my race. They’re looking for a gym bro kinda guy, and I’ve seen cats with more upper body muscle than me. I don’t even look the part, much less act it. It’s hopeless!” Rob sighed and rolled over. They both lingered in silence for a minute.

“You know, maybe we should just call it a night. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep,” Aidan said.

“I doubt it, not unless I can somehow become a gym bro overnight.”

“Stranger things have happened, you know…”

Rob was expecting Aidan to dismiss what he just said, not go along with it. He was only kidding after all! But Rob decided not to think twice about it and just laugh it off.

Robert went to bed that night restless and miserable. Normally he had no problem falling asleep, but for some reason, he just couldn’t sleep that night. Rob was eventually able to fall asleep after enough twisting and turning, but he was plagued by strange dreams. He kept dreaming about some muscular guy entering his bedroom while he slept. The dream was extremely lifelike, Rob felt he could reach out and get a feel of the dude’s jacked bicep!

Rob tried to touch him, but when he reached out, he found himself awake in his bed. Rob blinked and rubbed his eyes as he looked around his empty room. It was just a dream, nothing more and nothing less. Rob nodded off again. As he slept peacefully, the same muscle bro came back in his dreams, albeit in a very different way the second time around.

In the dream, Rob was still just laying down sleeping in his bed. He tried moving his body, but couldn’t. His body was in a deep sleep, and all Rob could do was watch himself sleep. 

At first, the dream was nothing more than him sleeping. After a couple of minutes passed, the muscular man made a reappearance. He crept back into Rob’s bedroom, except he was fully naked this time! Rob was caught off guard, but quickly found himself enjoying the view. The man was clean shaven all over his body except for three places: his thick mustache, his hairy pits, and his unruly bush of pubic hair. Rob loved the glorious sight of masculine, well-kept yet hairy man standing in his bedroom. He knew intuitively that the man’s name was Jacob. He watched as Jacob approached him on the bed. He also noticed that the dream version of himself had woken up and had begun stripping down naked. Jacob then hopped on the bed with him, placing himself in between Dream Rob’s open legs. Jacob was stroking himself while Dream Rob was feeling around his well-toned torso. He cupped one of Jacob’s pecs and felt how firm the slabs of meat on his chest were. Jacob had a cocky grin on his face as Rob worshiped him. He then bounced his pecs for Rob, which made him whimper from pleasure.  

Even though it was a dream, everything Rob was feeling felt just like real life. He could feel Jacob rubbing his hardening cock against his own dick, which made him get erect too. Rob felt Jacob’s thick bush brush up against the underside of his thighs as he thrusted his hips into him while jerking off. Soft, sensual moans escaped Rob’s lips, matching Jacob’s gruff, baritone groans. Once they were both at full mast, Jacob moved onto the next step of their little “play session.”

Jacob moved up closer to Rob. He grabbed his rock hard cock and positioned it right next to Rob’s. Rob was stunned at how hung Jacob was. He had both length and girth to his junk, and with a big, pink tip too! Jacob then put their dicks together in one hand and jerked them both off. Rob let out a loud moan as Jacob pumped away at both of their cocks. Jacob’s hand had a rough feel to it, most likely due to calluses from working out. Rob also noticed how warm his hand was, which added to the warm pleasure Rob was feeling as Jacob jerked them off. It was the best feeling Rob had felt in a long while.

Precum soon began leaking from the tips of their cocks. Jacob noticed his leakage and shuffled away slightly to reposition himself. Rob was purring with anticipation. He was expecting him to put it in, but instead he got something he could’ve never guessed. Rob started stroking himself off at a rapid pace and with bated breath. Rob assumed he was about to finish, but that guess was wrong too. Instead, Jacob’s cock started growing even longer and wider. Jacob then closed the gap between them again. He hovered his cock over Rob’s junk and lowered it. Jacob’s cock then engulfed Rob’s entire dick and balls area. Rob winced. He felt a pinch when he got swallowed up by Jacob’s engorged member. Jacob’s dick was throbbing. The vein running from the base to the tip was pulsating. Rob could feel Jacob twitching due to their dicks being conjoined. Only a few more seconds before Jacob let out a primal moan from deep within. Rob had no idea what was happening, but unfortunately had no time to react.

“Ahhh… Ah!? Arghh FUCKK!!” Rob moaned. He could feel the warmth of Jacob shooting out ropes of cum. However, because his cock was inside of Jacob’s, his loads had nowhere to go except inside of Rob’s dick. Rob was squirming as he felt all of Jacob’s spunk rush through the slit of his cockhead and down the length of his member. Jacob kept shooting out load after load and all of it was getting pumped straight into Rob’s balls. Rob’s cock and balls grew thicker and heavier as a result of getting filled up. He had become hung like a horse, sporting a cool 7 inch cock with some hefty girth to match its length too. Jacob’s seed had overwhelmed Rob’s reproductive system, forcing it to produce Jacob’s DNA rather than Rob’s. All of the testosterone filled cum Jacob had pumped into Rob began transforming the lower half of his body. 

The body transformation was as pleasurable as it was intense. Waves of ecstasy-like warmth spread throughout Rob’s legs and thighs as they grew exponentially bigger, forcing Rob to throw his head and moan as it all happened. The lower half of his body essentially exploded with mass. Once they finished growing, Rob’s body immediately shaped the extra mass into chiseled, muscular legs that looked just like Jacob’s.

Rob felt like his body was on fire after the explosive growth his legs went through! He was huffing and puffing for breath after that bodily experience. Rob was thankful that no more cum was getting pumped into him. It seemed like Jacob had finally been drained of every last drop. However, although his balls might’ve run dry, Jacob knew of another way to keep the transformation fun going. 

Jacob let Rob’s dick wiggle out of his own. Once they were detached, his engorged cock shrunk back down to its usual size. Jacob then positioned Rob to sit up against the headboard of his bed. He then hopped on top of him, placing him in between his beefy legs. Rob was now at eye level with Jacob’s massive chest. 

Rob salivated being so close to Jacob’s beefy pecs. He reached out and grabbed his left nipple with thumb and forefinger. He felt the few hairs surrounding the nipple tickling against his fingers as he gave him a light squeeze, causing Jacob to groan with delight. Rob then leaned in and planted his lips against Jacob’s succulent nipple. Rob could taste the salt of a few sweat drops as he used his tongue to flick his nipple around in his mouth. The thought of suckling a man’s juicy pecs made Rob get hard again, encouraging him to give Jacob the best service his mouth could offer. 

Jacob was breathing heavily as Rob sucked off his sensitive nipples. He began running his fingers through Rob’s hair while Rob went to work. While they were both having the time of their lives, this only lasted a few minutes before Jacob decided to switch things up again. He grabbed hold of Rob’s head and pressed him against his pec. Rob didn’t think twice about Jacob’s sudden dominance; he simply assumed he wanted him to suck even harder. He proceeded to suck and lick and bite as pleasurably as he could. Meanwhile, Jacob was using his free hand to rub down his pectoral muscles. He started squeezing at the top of his chest and ran his hand down to the nipple, stimulating his pecs until they started lactating. 

“Mmmm… Mmmrrngh? Mmmmm…!!” 

Rob noticed there was a sudden new taste in his mouth. However, it was a sweet, slightly milky taste that he quickly grew addicted to. It didn’t deter him from sucking Jacob’s chest, it only encouraged him to go even harder. Rob drank it all like a starving kitten while Jacob was in a world of heaven due to the combined sensations of lactating and having a man’s warm mouth sucking down on his nipple. 

Rob struggled to swallow all the milk. Some of it leaked out and ran down Rob’s mouth, causing an even wetter mess than before, but Rob kept at it. Jacob’s pec milk was the key to the second half of the transformation. The more of the sweet, sweet pec milk Rob drank, the stronger he was becoming. His torso began swelling up with muscle mass just like his legs did. His arms grew until he had two cannons with melon-sized biceps. His shoulders and back grew wider and chiseled. His pecs ballooned out but stayed firm with muscle, giving him a set of man tits that would put anyone to shame with their voluptuous size. By the time Jacob’s chest had finally run dry, Rob had been completely transformed into a beefy bodybuilder just like him. 

Rob leaned back from Jacob’s now swollen chest and swallowed the last few drops of milk he managed to suckle out. Once he swallowed, he let out a satisfied exhale and a loud burp. He then looked at Jacob with pleading eyes, the same eyes you would see on any submissive bottom eager to please. Jacob looked down to match Rob’s gaze, then grinned. He leaned down and gave Rob a big, fat kiss on the lips. Rob kissed him back too. He then opened his mouth slightly to let Jacob stick his tongue inside his mouth. Their tongues danced together in Rob’s mouth with Jacob’s tongue taking the dominant role. They then locked lips together for one last triumphant tongue kiss. Once Jacob pulled away, Rob noticed some course hair touching his upper lip. He reached out to touch his lip and with one stroke of the finger, he realized what had happened. Jacob had bestowed upon him the finishing touch of his transformation- his thick mustache befitting of a muscle daddy like the new him. 

Robert woke up in an incredibly great mood the next morning. He laid in bed with a wide smile on his face as he fondly replayed the weird yet awesome wet dream he had last night. Although he would always have the memory, he hoped the dreamy muscle man would visit him again sometime in the future. 

Rob noticed his body felt heavier as he laid in bed. He took a look down at himself, then smirked. It was the kind of cocky smirk any guy with a great body would have. He was hot and he knew it! 

He jumped out of bed with glee and ran to the nearest mirror to check himself out. Surely enough, his reflection in the mirror matched the same beefy cupcake his own eyes showed him. Rob almost couldn’t believe he had actually transformed overnight. He had so many questions running through his mind, but standing in front of the mirror, all he could think about was how hot his new body had become.

“Fuck yeah! I’m ripped as fuckk!!” 

While Rob was busy admiring his new self in the mirror, someone had been knocking on the door. Rob didn’t even notice someone was knocking. As a result, their knocks had evolved to them pounding on the door. The pounding was enough to finally get Rob’s attention. Annoyed, Rob pulled himself away from the mirror and hurried to the door. He opened it to an equally annoyed Aidan waiting on the other side.

“Where the fuck have you- Woah.” Aidan stepped into Rob’s apartment ready to chew him out but stopped after taking one look at the new him. He almost didn’t recognize him due to his new muscular physique. He had to look closely at his face just to recognize him. “Rob? Is that you!? Holy shit!!”

“I know right! Check me out bro, you like my new look?” Rob flexed his bicep for Aidan while he hyped him up. Though Aidan was happy for his friend, he remembered the reason why he came by in the first place.

“I don’t know how the fuck you managed to go super saiyan on me overnight, but we don’t have time for this right now. Your audition’s in an hour and it’s all the way across town!”

“Oh fuck!! I completely forgot about that, let’s GO!”

Rob quickly threw some clothes on and ran out the door with Aidan by his side. They barreled down the highways at dangerously high speeds, driving as fast as Rob’s car could manage. They were able to make it to the rec center where auditions were being held just in the nick of time. Rob ran into the waiting lobby just as the producer called out his name. 

“Alright bro… You got this… Break… A leg!” Aidan said in between huffs, fighting to catch his breath after sprinting from the parking lot. Rob nodded and followed the producer into the backroom.

“Welcome, Robert, please feel free to take a minute to catch your breath. I know you had to run to get here on time, what happened?” the producer asked as she took a seat next to the director.

“Nothing, just traffic. You know how it gets in this city,” Rob responded.

“I see. Well then, feel free to start whenever you’re ready.”

“Actually, before I start, is it alright if I do a little improv? I have the sides down but I wanted to add my own little flair to the scene.”

“Do as you must, just be sure to show us your best performance.” The director answered with a bored inflection in her voice.

Rob nodded, then proceeded to perform the sides for the audition. He had the sides perfectly memorized, and he followed the script’s exact punctuation down to the comma too. Rob didn’t stray far from the script for the most part, but for his rendition of the scene, he decided to take out his shirt and play the character as an aloof himbo rather than just an arrogant jock.

Once he finished performing, Rob looked up to see their faces. The producer looked irritated, while the director still had the same poker face she had when Rob first entered the room.

“Well! Thank you for your time, Robert, we’ll let you know if-”

“No need,” the director waved her hand to stop the producer. “After seeing over 20 auditions today, I can say with confidence that you’re the best fit for the role. Congratulations Robert, you got the part.”

Rob was bursting with joy. He shook the director’s hand with an over enthusiastic vigor and a wide grin on his face. He then walked out to share the great news with Aidan, who was just as excited as he was. He had done it; he had landed a role in a major Hollywood production as the main character’s meathead yet lovable brother. 

Epilogue

Several months have passed since Rob finished filming his last major role. His newly acquired looks granted him the confidence he needed to perform at his best. Coupled with his eagerness and passion for acting, Rob had become the total package, and other big names in the film industry agreed too. Word had gotten out on how Rob was set to become a rising star. A couple of directors had even scouted him for their upcoming projects! All in all, Rob was enjoying the new life he was only just starting to build up for himself as an actor.

However, there was one slight problem. Rob and Aidan’s friendship had taken a turn for the worse lately. While Aidan was happy for his buddy’s success and Rob was more than happy to share some of the Hollywood glamor with his best friend, the two had begun bickering a lot. 

It started back when Rob first transformed into the beefy bodybuilder he was now. Rob was slowly becoming more and more arrogant ever since then. Aidan didn’t notice at first, but it was becoming more obvious with every passing day. Every other sentence Rob said had the word “bro” shoved into it. That, and if it didn’t involve his acting career, going to the gym, partying, or fucking hot dudes, then Rob simply had no time or patience for it. Even Aidan, his best friend since primary school, had been shoved into the sidelines! Rob had become the epitome of a selfish, gym rat narcissistic. 

But Aidan was never the type to simply roll over and give up. He would sooner die than let his best friend go without a fight. So he decided to try and get the old Rob back, much to his dismay. 

Rob was in the middle of getting ready to go out clubbing with his other actor friends. While getting dressed, he decided to take a moment to admire himself in the mirror. He made sure to keep up with the maintenance a hot, muscular body like his needed in order to be maintained. He was proud of his physique, and it was then he decided he was gonna find another hot guy to fuck all night long. It had been too long since he last got off after all, his balls were already hanging low with how full they were! All he needed was someone to drain him of his load.

As Rob was recording a new thirst trap to send out on dating apps, he got an incoming video call from Aidan. Rob grunted and declined the call. Annoyed, he threw his phone off to the side. But just as he was about to resume getting ready when he felt something strange in his chest. He looked down and bounced his pecs again. Rob noticed that it took him more effort than usual to flex his pectoral muscles. He grabbed one of his pecs, gave it a squeeze and when he did, he felt like something was about to leak out of his nipple. Something… Like milk.

Aidan called again. Rob turned to look at his phone ringing on the bed. He then looked back down at his body. It was then a brilliant idea had hit him. Rob and Aidan were going to be the best of friends again after he was done.

Eric jogged up the steps of his family's sprawling estate, sweat glistening on his toned body as he finished his daily run. He couldn't help but wonder what his Uncle Rick's car was doing outside though. His deadbeat uncle was always around asking for cash. And as he passed his father's office, he could overhead their conversation.

"…I'm telling you Jack, I need this loan. Things have been tough since I lost my job," came the whiny voice of his uncle Rick. Eric rolled his eyes.

"Rick, we've been over this. I can't just keep bailing you out," his father responded sternly.

Eric peeked through the cracked door. As always, Rick's greasy hair and stained wife-beater contrasted sharply with his father's crisp button-down shirt and pressed slacks.

"You always were a selfish prick, Jack!" Rick spat, jabbing a finger at his brother. "Too good to help out your own flesh and blood."

"Hey Dad, Uncle Rick," Eric greeted casually as he strolled into the study, not bothering to knock. He knew how much it grated Uncle Rick to see him.

"Oh well if it isn't the golden boy." Rick muttered.

Jack sighed heavily, "Rick, I wish I could help, but right now I need to focus on securing Eric's future. If you had a son, I'm sure you'd be able to understand."

Eric smirked- he loved hearing about his place as heir to the family fortune. But his smirk faded as Rick spoke again.

"Please Jack, I'm desperate here," Rick begged, "It's not for me, it's for Jace. That damn fool got into another fight downtown and now the legal fees are piling up. What kind of father would I be if I let him rot in jail?"

The words echoed in Eric's ears strangely, like they held some unseen power.

"Who's Jace?" Eric mumbled, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Again?" His father sighed, "How many times is your kid going to get into trouble?"

Eric's thoughts raced. Since when did Uncle Rick have a kid?

"Hey, I don't..." Eric's breath caught in his throat as he felt a strange tingling sensation spreading across his chest.

To his shock, he watched as his pecs began to swell and expand, packing on solid muscle at an alarming rate. The skin stretched taut as his pectorals grew heavier, more defined. Dark hairs sprouted along his newly thickened chest, forming a sparse trail down to his abs.

"What the hell…" Eric gasped, reaching up to touch his rapidly changing torso.

His fingers sank into the firm, rounded muscle as it continued to develop before his eyes. Biceps and triceps ballooned in size, his arms covered in a sheen of sweet. Even his core thickened, packing on with muscle and fat.

"I don't… I don't feel so good," Eric slurred.

"He didn't start it, I swear! Those bastards jumped him. My boy was just defending himself."

Eric stared transfixed at his arms as dark lines began to snake across his skin, slowly taking shape. The tattoos spread like living shadows, wrapping around his biceps and disappearing beneath the bulging muscles of his forearms. Swirling designs of skulls, flames, and twisted letters emerged, covering every inch.

"Holy shit," Eric breathed, flexing his arms to watch the fresh ink ripple over his swelling biceps. The tattoos made him look harder, grittier - a far cry from his usual preppy appearance, "No..."

A sudden urge for nicotine hit Eric like a freight train. His jaw clenched as he fought the unfamiliar craving, hands twitching at his sides. When did he start smoking?

"I gotta… I need a cig," Eric grunted, his voice deeper and rougher than before. He looked down at his hands, noticing how much larger and rougher they appeared, knuckles scarred and dirty under the nails.

"I don't get it, I never smoked before…" Eric mumbled, mind hazy and sluggish. Thinking hurt, like wading through mud.

"I've heard that before." Jack remarked, "Jace is always just a bystander, never his fault. Really?"

"Don't you dare judge my son! Jace is a good kid, he just fell in with the wrong crowd. With your help, I can get him back on track!"

Meanwhile, Eric's stubble thickened and spread, shadowing his jawline. Wrinkles etched themselves into the corners of his eyes and mouth, aging him several years.

"Nah, that ain't right," Eric slurred, his words clumsy and slow. "I'm… I'm supposed to be… shit, what was I supposed to be doin' again?"

Jack shook his head, "Enabling him won't help, Rick. Jace needs to learn responsibility, not have you clean up his messes."

"And what, let him rot in prison? He's still my son!" Rick shot back heatedly. "With your money, we could get him a good lawyer, maybe even get the charges dismissed. Don't you want to help family?"

Eric stumbled, catching himself against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His reflection in a nearby mirror showed a stranger staring back - a burly, tattooed man with a scruffy beard and a vacant expression. Panic rose in his throat as the realization hit him.

"This ain't right," Eric croaked, voice gravelly with fear. "I'm… I'm not supposed to be like this. I'm Eric, I'm…" He trailed off, mind blanking. The name 'Jace' flickered at the edges of his consciousness but he couldn't quite grasp it.

He winced at the acrid scent of motor oil and cigarettes that clung to his skin, mingling with the musk of sweat and masculinity. Calluses roughened his palms and fingertips. Memories of his job as a mechanic flashing before his eyes.

"Come on Jack, have a heart. Jace is all I've got left. I can't lose him too."

Jack sighed, "Rick… Fine, if I had a son, I'd probably be begging too."

Eric's stomach churned with unease as he felt the weight of the cigarettes in his pocket, the phantom taste of smoke on his tongue. Memories that weren't his own flickered through his mind - greasy hands twisting wrenches, the roar of engines, the sting of fists connecting with flesh.

"No, no, no," Eric chanted under his breath, backing away from the mirror. He bumped into a chair, nearly knocking it over in his confusion. "This ain't real, this ain't fuckin' real…"

"Heh, there's my boy!" Rick's gruff voice cut through the haze, jolting Eric upright. "Jace, you okay? Ya look a little green around the gills."

Eric flinched at the sound of his uncle's voice, the name 'Jace' echoing in his aching skull. He forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking blearily up at Rick's concerned face. The older man's features swam in and out of focus, distorted by the sheen of tears gathering in Eric's eyes.

"D-Dad?" Eric rasped, the word foreign on his tongue. "I… I dunno what's happenin'. Somethin's wrong with me, somethin's all fucked up in my head…"

Rick's weathered face creased with worry as he placed a calloused hand on Eric's shoulder, steadying him. "Easy there, son. You're just havin' a rough go of it, that's all. Them lawyers got ya all stressed out 'bout the trial."

"I… I ain't supposed to be like this," Eric mumbled, voice thick with confusion and growing panic. "I'm supposed to be… shit, I can't remember. It's all jumbled up in here."

"Aw hell, Jace. You're just takin' a real hard hit right now, that's all. Them fancy law books and all that courtroom bullshit, it's enough to rattle anyone's cage." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and holding it out to Eric. "Here, take a drag. Might settle your nerves a bit."

Eric stared at the offered cigarette, a war raging inside him. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't right, that he shouldn't, but the craving gnawed at him, insistent and overwhelming. With trembling fingers, he took the cigarette, bringing it to his lips.

"I… I don't…" Eric started to protest, but the words died in his throat as he inhaled deeply, the acrid smoke filling his lungs.

The last vestiges of confusion melted away as the nicotine flooded his system, and he exhaled a long stream of smoke with a low groan.

"Fuck, that's the stuff," Jace groaned as the nicotine hit his system, muscles relaxing almost instantly, "Shit, my head's clearer already." His attention turned towards Jack, "Hey, uh, Thanks a lot Uncle Jack for helpin' us out here," Jace drawled, stubbing out the cigarette on the sole of his work boot. "Much appreciated, ya know? Means the world to us."

Jack sighed, "Last time, Jace."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotcha, uncle. Won't forget it." Jace stood up straight, cracking his neck. He followed his dad out of the big house, the weight of his new reality settling on his broad shoulders. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.

He climbed into the passenger seat, the worn leather creaking under his bulk. As Rick fired up the engine, Jace glanced back at the imposing house receding in the side mirror, a silent goodbye to the life he once knew. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear - he was Jace now, through and through. And he could really go for another cig.

The first thing Tommy noticed was the smell—sharp antiseptic with an underlying hint of cheap air freshener, like someone had tried to mask the clinic’s medical sterility with supermarket lavender. He scratched at his thinning hairline absently, the brochure in his other hand promising "Natural Restoration, Guaranteed Results" in bold, cheerful letters.

"Sign here, mate," said the receptionist, a bored-looking bloke with a sleeve tattoo peeking out from under his scrubs. He slid a clipboard across the counter without looking up. Tommy hesitated, pen hovering over the dotted line. "Everything’s standard," the guy added, shrugging. "No refunds, though."

Tommy scribbled his name. The waiting room was empty except for an old man flipping through a dog-eared magazine and a flickering fluorescent light. A door buzzed open, and a nurse—if you could call her that, given her neon pink trainers—waved him in. "Right this way, love. Dr. Mullins is ready for you."

The procedure room was smaller than he expected, the chair more like a dentist’s than anything medical. Dr. Mullins, a wiry bloke with a goatee and too-white teeth, gestured at it. "Hop on up, Tommy. Quick consultation first—just a formality." He tapped a tablet, scrolling. "So, hair restoration, yeah? Classic male pattern baldness, thinning at the crown… standard stuff." Tommy nodded, trying not to fidget as Mullins hummed. "You ever consider something more… transformative?"

Tommy blinked. "What, like a wig?"

Dr. Mullins chuckled, the sound too sharp, like a blade scraping against bone. "A wig? Christ, no. We do real transformations here." He reached under the chair and pulled out a set of thick leather straps. "Standard protocol," he said casually, looping one around Tommy's wrist before he could react. The leather creaked as Mullins yanked it tight, the buckle clicking into place with finality.

Tommy's pulse jumped. "Wait—"

"Relax, mate. Just precautionary." Mullins secured his other wrist, then crouched to fasten straps around his ankles. The chair tilted back slightly, locking Tommy into a reclined position. The ceiling tiles had water stains in the shape of continents Tommy didn’t recognize. "Gotta keep you still," Mullins continued, patting his shoulder like he was a nervous dog. "Wouldn’t want you twitching mid-procedure, would we? Bad for the scalp. Bad for the aesthetic."

Aesthetic. The word slithered through Tommy’s skull. He tried to lift his arm—just testing—but the strap held firm, biting into his skin. The nurse from earlier wheeled in a tray of instruments, the metal clinking like cutlery in a drawer. Tommy caught a glimpse of something that looked suspiciously like a tattoo gun. "Uh," he said, voice higher than he intended, "what exactly are you—"

"Bioethics seminar later, yeah?" Mullins interrupted, snapping on gloves. "Right now, we’re giving you what you really need." He leaned in, breath minty and artificial. "Ever fancied being someone else, Tommy? Properly, I mean. Not just a haircut. A whole vibe."

Tommy jerked against the straps, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "No—wait, I changed my mind. Let me up." His voice cracked on the last word, and Dr. Mullins sighed like he'd heard this a thousand times before. He didn't even look up from the tray of instruments, just adjusted a dial on some humming machine Tommy hadn't noticed before.

The door burst open with a bang that made Tommy flinch. Two figures strode in, decked head-to-toe in tracksuits so bright they hurt his eyes—neon orange and electric green, the kind of gear you’d spot from space. Their faces were hidden behind black balaclavas, only their eyes visible, glinting with something between amusement and menace. One of them tossed a duffel bag onto the counter, the clatter of metal inside making Tommy’s stomach twist.

"Right on time," Dr. Mullins said, like they’d just popped in for tea.

Tommy thrashed, the chair creaking under him. "What the fuck is this? Let me—" One of the lads lunged forward, faster than Tommy could process, and clamped a gloved hand over his mouth. The other pulled a syringe from the duffel, the liquid inside a sickly, iridescent blue. Tommy’s eyes locked onto it, his pulse hammering in his throat.

"Easy, mate," the lad with the syringe said, voice muffled by the fabric. "Just a little prick."

Tommy's muscles went slack before his brain registered why—the syringe's contents hit his bloodstream like a lit fuse, warmth spreading through his limbs in slow, syrupy waves. His thoughts blurred at the edges, the panic dissolving into something thick and distant, like trying to swim through treacle. The lad holding his mouth removed his glove with a smirk, revealing chipped black nail polish. "There we go," he cooed, patting Tommy's cheek. "Proper chilled now, innit?"

Dr. Mullins rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms covered in ink—tribal tattoos gone wrong, faded football crests, a wonky Mum in Gothic script. "Right," he muttered, flicking on a buzzing razor. "Let’s get you looking the part." The first pass of the blade sent a cascade of Tommy's remaining hair tumbling onto his shoulders, the sensation oddly pleasant through the chemical haze. He tried to protest, but his tongue felt swollen, his words slurring into a groan.

The lad in the neon tracksuit—Daz, his name tag read—leaned against the counter, rolling a spliff with practiced ease. "Gonna need this after," he said, licking the paper. "Proper initiation, like." Tommy watched, hypnotized, as Daz sparked up, the first drag filling the room with the sweet, skunky reek of cheap weed. The smoke curled toward the ceiling, merging with the water-stain continents. Tommy inhaled reflexively, the THC-laced air layering onto the injection’s effect, his thoughts sinking deeper into the fog.

Mullins worked with the precision of a man who’d done this a thousand times—shaving the sides down to the scalp, leaving just that stark oval of hair on top, the black dye stinging Tommy’s skin as it seeped into freshly exposed follicles. The high-and-tight shape emerged like a grotesque sculpture, the razor’s edge defining the lines with military harshness. Tommy’s reflection in the overhead lamp’s chrome surface was a stranger: gaunt cheekbones, hollow eyes, that ridiculous tuft of hair like a dead animal perched on his skull.

Daz exhaled a plume of smoke directly into Tommy’s face. "Look at you," he laughed, nudging his mate. "Proper little scally now. Just needs the tracksuit and the attitude." The other lad—Kev, his tag read—dug into the duffel and pulled out a crumpled Adidas jacket, the stripes peeling at the edges. "Here," Kev said, shaking it out. "Uniform." Tommy’s fingers twitched as they dressed him, the fabric rough against his skin, the smell of sweat and Lynx Africa clinging to the seams.

"Hold up, lads," Dr. Mullins said, waving a hand as Kev dangled the Adidas jacket over Tommy’s limp body. "Dressing him now’s like putting a bow on a feral cat. Won’t stick." He rummaged in a drawer beneath the tray of instruments, the metal screeching in protest, and pulled out a black balaclava—except this one had wires snaking from the seams, pulsing faintly with a dull red glow. "Gotta wire his noggin first. Proper firmware update."

Daz took another drag, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. "Fuckin’ hell, Doc. Thought you said this was a quick in-and-out."

Mullins ignored him, turning the balaclava inside out to reveal a mess of electrodes, each one slick with conductive gel. "Quick for you. For him?" He tapped Tommy’s forehead, now shiny with sweat and dye runoff. "Full factory reset. Wipe the posh twat right out."

Tommy’s pulse spiked again, the chemical haze thinning just enough for panic to claw its way back in. "No—no, you can’t—" His voice was hoarse, his throat raw like he’d been screaming for hours. Maybe he had. Time had turned to sludge.

Kev chuckled, fishing another syringe from the duffel—this one filled with a viscous, pearlescent liquid that shimmered unnaturally under the clinic’s fluorescents. "Relax, mate. Just a little youth boost. Nineteen again—proper prime." He didn’t bother swabbing Tommy’s arm, just jabbed the needle into the crook of his elbow. The serum burned like petrol in his veins, a white-hot rush that made his muscles seize. His skin prickled, tightening over suddenly prominent ribs, his once-soft belly hollowing out into the lean, hungry angles of a kid who’d grown up on Pot Noodles and stolen energy drinks.

Daz whistled low. "Fuckin’ hell. Look at him." He pinched Tommy’s cheek, now sharp enough to cut paper. "Proper cheekbones now. Bet the birds’ll love that."

Tommy’s breath came in shallow gasps, his body aching like he’d been run through a taffy puller. "Please," he rasped, voice cracking—higher now, younger. "Just let me go."

Mullins snorted, yanking the balaclava down over Tommy’s skull. The electrodes pressed cold against his scalp, the gel seeping into his freshly shorn stubble. "Bit late for that, sunshine." He flicked a switch on the back of the mask, and the wires flared to life, pulsing crimson. "Think of this as… vocational training."

The world dissolved into static. Tommy’s thoughts unraveled like a cheap jumper caught on a nail—memories of uni, his dad’s golf clubs, the taste of artisan coffee—all of it fraying at the edges, replaced by something louder, cruder. A montage of stolen pints, pavement-gray skies, the stink of piss in a bus shelter. The hum of the electrodes synced with his heartbeat, each pulse rewriting another line of code in his brain.

Kev’s voice cut through the noise, tinny and distant: "Gonna need a new name for him. Can’t have a scally called Tommy."

Tommy’s thoughts stuttered like a skipping record, each pulse of the balaclava’s electrodes rewriting another syllable of his identity. Tommy—no, that wasn’t right. Too soft, too posh. A name like a sweater vest. His tongue probed the roof of his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of the gel seeping from the mask’s seams. "Fuckin’—lemme go, yeah?" The words tumbled out in a Manc twang he’d never used before, the vowels flattened under an invisible boot.

Memories flickered behind his eyelids like a dying projector: his first pint at uni (that’s not me), a childhood holiday in Cornwall (who the fuck goes there?), the feel of a cashmere scarf (soft little prick). Each one dissolved into the static, replaced by the visceral punch of a stolen bike handlebar to his ribs, the acrid sting of a cheap vape hitting the back of his throat. He groaned, the sound morphing mid-way into a laugh—harsh, jagged. "Y’alright, Doc? Or d’ya just like watchin’ lads squirm?"

Daz barked a laugh, grinding his spliff into the clinic’s linoleum. "There he is! Proper little gobshite now." He leaned in, his Lynx Africa and weed stench thick enough to choke on. "What’s your name, then?"

Tommy—not Tommy—blinked. The question slithered through his skull, elusive as a greased eel. His name was… something with a K. Or maybe a T. "Dunno," he admitted, the admission sharp as a shiv. "But I know you’re a twat." The insult felt good, natural, like scratching an itch he’d had for years.

Dr. Mullins peeled the balaclava off with a wet schlick, the electrodes leaving angry red welts in their wake. "There. Sorted." He held up a hand mirror, the glass cracked at the corner. "Meet the new you."

The mirror showed a stranger—gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes, and that ridiculous black tuft perched like roadkill on his scalp. But when the reflection grinned, teeth yellowed from fags and energy drinks, something inside Riley clicked. "Fuck me," he muttered, fingers prodding his new jawline. "Proper handsome now, innit?"

Dr. Mullins chuckled, tossing the mirror aside. "Quiz time, sunshine. What’s your name?"

"Riley," he snapped, the name tasting like stolen vape hits and bus-stop piss. Then, quieter: "Tommy." The syllable slithered out like a worm from a tin, wrong and soft. Riley’s nose wrinkled. "Fuck off with that posh twat shite."

Daz lobbed a crushed can of Monster at his head. "Who won the 1966 World Cup?"

"England, you daft cunt," Riley sneered, catching the can mid-air. His hands moved faster now—knuckles scabbed, nails bitten to the quick.

The mirror clattered to the floor as Riley's fingers twitched toward the crumpled pack of Lambert & Butler tucked in the waistband of his trackies. His movements were jerky, unpracticed—like a marionette with half its strings cut—but the muscle memory of a thousand fag breaks kicked in. The lighter sparked on the third try, the flame wobbling before he sucked in the first drag. Smoke filled his lungs, thick and chemical, and Riley exhaled through his nose like he'd been doing it since primary.

"

The first drag of smoke hit Riley’s lungs like a brick to the chest, and his fingers—already twitching with the ghost of old habits—dropped instinctively to the waistband of his trackies. The fabric was stiff with dried Lynx Africa and something unidentifiable, but the feel of his own cock underneath was alarmingly familiar, like he’d been tugging at it since Year Seven. It stirred under his palm, thickening fast, and Riley grinned around the fag dangling from his lips. "Fuckin’ hell," he muttered, voice already hoarse. "Proper weapon, this."

Dr. Mullins watched, arms crossed, his goatee twitching with something between pride and impatience. "Quiz time," he announced, snapping his fingers. "What’s your nan’s name?"

Riley’s hand stilled for half a second, his brow furrowing. A flicker of something—a woman in a floral apron, the smell of custard creams—flashed behind his eyes before dissolving into static. "Dunno," he spat, giving his cock a rough squeeze. "Died before I were born, din’t she?" The words tasted like a lie, but his fingers kept moving, the rhythm overriding the itch in his skull.

The doc nodded, satisfied, and fired off another question. "Who’s the fittest bird on Love Island?"

Riley barked a laugh, ash tumbling from his fag onto his bare thigh. "Fuckin’ none of ‘em, mate. Rather wank to Gogglebox." His cock pulsed in his grip, the heat of it spreading up his spine. It felt obscenely big, like someone had grafted a fucking rolling pin between his legs, and the sheer weight of it sent a jolt of dumb pride through him. "Twelve inch, easy," he bragged, thumbing the head just to hear Daz whistle.

Riley’s fingers moved with the practiced rhythm of a lad who’d spent more time wanking than studying, his calloused grip tightening around the base of his cock as it twitched against his thigh. The cigarette dangled from his lips, the ash trembling as he exhaled through his nose, the smoke curling around his freshly shaved head like a shitty halo. "Fuckin’ massive, innit?" he slurred, thumb rubbing over the leaking tip just to watch Daz’s eyes track the movement. The last dregs of Tommy’s consciousness clung to the back of his skull like a stubborn hangover—this isn’t me, this isn’t me—but the thought unraveled as soon as it formed, drowned out by the obscene slap of his balls against the chair.

Dr. Mullins leaned in, his breath reeking of stale mints and surgical spirit. "Final question," he murmured, tapping the tip of Riley’s cock with a biro like he was taking attendance. "What’s the capital of France?"

Riley’s hips jerked off the chair, his cock swelling impossibly thicker, veins standing out like rope under his skin. "Dunno," he grunted, spit pooling under his tongue as his free hand fumbled for the pack of Lambert & Butler. "Some frog shitehole. Fuckin’—ah—Paris, like." The answer was dragged out of him, half-buried under the slick sounds of his own fist working his length. The last syllable dissolved into a groan as his thumb circled the head, the pleasure short-circuiting the last of Tommy’s memories—art galleries, wine tastings, fucking hummus—all of it evaporating like piss on a pavement in July.

Kev whistled, low and appreciative, as Riley’s cock pulsed in his grip, the foreskin pulling back to reveal a flushed, glistening head. "Proper monster, that," he mused, nudging Daz. "Bet he could crack a walnut with that."

Barrett walked around the circus trying to find someone to ask for help but he was shocked at how vacant the place was. Every tent and stall he passed was ready for service. But there was no one there. He heard the sound of buzzing and he rounded a corner and saw a signed that said “Big Top Barbers” in colourful lettering. He could see the shadow of someone inside of the shop. A breeze swept through the carnival, chilling Barrett to the bone. Even thought had his letterman jacket on it was as if he was wearing nothing. The barren carnival was starting to concern Barrett and wanting to get out of the chilly night he stepped inside the shop.

Once inside, he saw a line of three chairs along side the left hand side of the room where they faced mirrors. In the back he could see a man with a meticulously shaped moustache sharpening a razor on a leather strap. Barrett walked towards the man, letting the door shut behind him, dinging a bell for the mans attention. He wore white clothes but a red stripped apron. “Come take a seat boy. I can trim you in no time at all!”

Barrett wasn’t interested. “I don’t need a trim. Or a shave. I just need help with a bus”. The man looked at him and frowned. He went back to sharpening the Razor. “My dear boy, everyone could use a touch up. I’m actually offended as I’m a world class barber!” He motioned towards a wall that was lined with trophies and awards. He looked back at Barrett and turned a chair to him. “Tell you what, sit down for a trim and I’ll make sure you get help for that...” The man trailed off and Barrett finished the sentence by saying, “Bus?” He walked toward the man, weary of what was going on. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. His ankles started itching as if being bitten by something in the shop. He itched his ankle with his other foot and decided to take a seat.

As Barrett sat down in the chair he felt like a little kid again. “Everybody can use a trim,” the man said as he chuckled, flashing his yellow teeth at Barrett. The man started to work, trimming his hair. Really making him look sharp and well groomed. Barrett was mesmerized as he saw the man go to work. When he was done he looked fantastic! “Wow this is great man!” Barrett said smiling. “Why thank you I told you I’m a world class star.... now if only would let me get those pesky hairs there!“ The man said pointing to the nape of Barrett’s collar where the shirt was covering his back.

“What are you talking about? There is shouldn’t be anything there!” The man just chucked and said, “well if that’s the case you won’t mind of I...” before finishing his sentence, he reached forward and snatched the hair that was showing. Barrett yelped with pain and immediately turned around, looking at the man who was holding three long black hairs in his hand. “You’re quite furry aren’t you?”

Barrett was embarrassed. He thought he’d shaved those? Barrett was quite a hairy man but you couldn’t tell he made sure to shave every day. He didn’t want to be what his genetics were determine to make him. He even had an appointment the following week to get laser treatment. The man just laughed at him, “You’ve even got some there...” He said pointing to the small tuft of exposed chest hair at his collar. Barrett jumped up and looked in the mirror. “No no no! I need a razor!” To which the man happily provided to him.

Barrett took the razor and the man took a few steps back and sat in the neighbouring chair. Barrett took his jacket and shirt off. There wasn’t much there. But you could see the small tuft of hairs on his otherwise clean shaven chest. If he didn’t shave every day, this man would have a bit of hair on him. Barrett used some of the shaving cream on the counter and with a brush, began to brush it across his tight muscular torso. When he was done he began to shave. It wasn’t long before Barrett was done and looking to the man and asking for help. “I need help with my back.” The man laughed at him and Barrett begged, “Please don’t! It’s bad enough I’m doing this in front of you but I need help! Please!”

Before the man put the cream onto his hands to rub on Barrett’s back, he put on black latex gloves. “Come on man, whyre you putting in gloves?” Barrett asked growing impatient. “Oh I don’t want it on my skin my dear boy. It can make you a bit... itchy!” He said as he started lathering the shaving cream on Barrett’s back. As the man started shaving off the few small bristly hairs, Barrett felt and itching starts to creep up his back. Oh god it felt so bad. He went to scratch and had his hand swatted away. The man was taking his time, shaving very slowly making the itching worse for Barrett, it got to the point his eyes started watering. Then his chest started itching again. He looked down and where it was only just clean shaven, small bits of stubble were growing out. It looked like he’d left it for a day. The itch got to the point where it was unbearable and he broke away from the man. He scratched and scratched but he couldn’t reach no matter what position he tried. That’s when he saw that where the man had just shaven, hair was starting to grow again, just like it had on his chest.

“Give me that razor, there’s something not right! It has to be dull!” Barrett swiped the razor form the mans hands and placed it to his finer. It was very sharp. It drew blood. He didn’t have long to register this when the itching got the best of him. He was scratching the best he could. His legs were itching like crazy now and he was soon taking off his pants. “I need more cream! That dull razor is making me itch!”

He looked down and his legs were looking slightly hairier than usual. He normally didn’t bother shaving them but the hair was definitely looking denser. Barrett started lathering himself in the shaving cream and every surface it touched made the itching increase. As soon as he shaved an area he was horrified to see the hair starting to grow back almost instantly. He was so horrified at the hair on his body that he didn’t even notice the hair growing on the backs of his hands! When there was no more cream, Barrett thought he had defeated the hair. He couldn’t see any across his tanned skin but he was covered in razor bumps now. In the mirror he looked on in shock as hair started to cover his whole body. He now sported a thick beard which connected with the now shaggier hair on his head. His beard crept up close to his eyes and his brow looked overgrown and started meeting in the middle. Then he looked down at his feet, there was hair. He didn’t even think to shave there!! He had never had hair there before!! That’s when he saw a black dot jumping. And it was more than just one. And then he saw right before his eyes, hair growing across his legs. Across his torso. Across everything! It mangled in the rest of the growing hair that was covered in the black jumping dots. They were fleas!

The man stood up and walked towards Barrett. Barrett was dumb struck. What was going on? As the man came to his side all Barrett could hear was, “Well my little fluff ball. You really are quite fuzzy aren’t you!” As he felt a hand petting his back like he was an animal. Barrett turned to the man only to see a spiral and he was consumed instantly in the circular pattern. His mouth fell open and all thought was lost as drool started to fall onto his hairy chest. The only thing that entered his mind was the voice of the man who was telling him. “Now Barrett my boy, we both know a man has hair on his chest but this is another lever! Can you even see your nipples under that fur?” Barrett’s hair continued to grow, getting thicker by the second as it covered his nipples. His nipples were now covered completely. “Speaking of fur, can you even see any skin under that rug of hair on your body? Have you ever been able to catch a tan?” Hair began to grow so thick. Covering every inch of skin as Barrett seemed to be devolving right before his eyes. Covering him in a black pelt of hair. “No matter how much you shave it’ll always grow back. You got fed up of breaking and buying new razors. So you haven’t shaved in years have you?” The memory of learning to shave in the mirror with his dad was quickly erased from Barrett’s memory. As well as shaving every day before he left the house. He didn’t even know how to hold a razor, never mind use one! “And those fleas, you know what carries fleas my boy? Animals!” As that mention of animal Barrett lower jaw shifted forward. His brow bone thickened and Lowerrd and some fangs formed on his lower lip. His feet grew in size until they were size 13s and covered in hair as his hands got longer. His spine curved slightly so he could always be hunched. Hair was always going to be the first thing you saw on Barrett. And now with his further adjustments he would be seen as an animal. Barrett went to speak but all that came out was an ook! Ook! He tried to speak but his vocal cords seemed to be stuck in a primitive state. He was so angry! “Now an animal doesn’t have a name like Barrett. That would be silly. You look more like a monkey than a man. No, your name will be Beans! Perfect for a dumb hairy monkey like you!” Barrett, no, Beans could no longer remember his name. He tried to think hard crunching up his face into a dumb look. But no matter how hard he tried, Beans was the only name he recognised.

“Here catch this banana, if you look like a monkey you might as well eat like one, that hair above your ass is so thick it might as well be a tail! Ahahah...” Instantly the hair grew long and thick at the bar of his spine forming a hair tail. Hair behind his ears grew out further and pressed them forward, making them stick out. The bannana that was thrown at him he caught with his foot that had morphed even further in monkey paws. “Now then Beans, we have to get ready for your show. Poor dumb monkey, do you even understand what I’m saying?” Beans just looked at him like the dumb animal he now was. He squatted and clinched onto the leg of the man, not wanting to let go of the one familiar face he now knew.

The man slowed his speech and said loudly and slowly, “OKAY BEANS, LET THE NICE MEN HELP YOU PUT ON YOUR NEW OUTFIT, AND LETS TAKE AWAY THAT SILLY JACKET. ANIMALS DON’T PLAY SPORTS DUMB DUMB!” The man motions for the carnies to come in and take Beans away as he’s nothing but a helpless hairy animal now. Ooking the whole time. Beans was presented with a fez hat that was place onto his head. Beans began to play with the golden tassel mindlessly. The man gave Beans one last look as the carnies striped the remaining clothes off Beans. He smiled as his yellow teeth grinned under his moustache, watching Beans scratching his armpits like a dumb monkey, picking out fleas and putting them in his mouth. The carnies took his hairy hand and started leading him out the back of the shop, Beans started dancing to the carnival music like a dumb animal. After all, every carnival needs a dancing monkey.

Tim just downloaded a new kinky meeting app. He always dreamt about being submissive to another man but never actually tried it.

He started talking to a chav. The guy was really nice. He talked about chastity, butler and stuff. Tim was so excited to try all that.

The chav arrived with a chastity cage and a uniform for Tim. It felt like Christmas.

Tim immediately obeyed and put on the chastity cage and the uniform. He also styled his hair in a nice way. This felt so good.

The chav asked Tim for the house key and his wallet. That way during the hookup Tim can't control anything.

Tim was eager to get laid by this hot chav. But soon the deception came. The chav took pictures of Tim and his id. He blackmailed Tim saying that if he didn't obey he'll leak the photos .

Tim obeyed. He served his master and the master friends all evening. The only thank you he was getting were spit and insults .

When they left the apartment was a mess. The chavs destroyed all of his old clothes. Tim only got his uniform now.

Tim started cleaning the apartment. It was the only thing he could do since master left with the key of the apartment, the key of the chastity cage and Tim's wallet.

After cleaning Tim waited for Master to come back home.